Peeling lychees to make cocktails the other day (yes, we segue from one decadent experience to another in my kitchen), I was struck by the prettiness of the scent that soared out once the knotted, prehistorically reptilian skin was pierced, and how much it smelled like gewürztraminer. Given that "lychee" (along with "rose petal") is one of the most common tasting notes for the grape, perhaps I shouldn't have been so surprised, but it is unusual to find such a strong correlation between wine and fruit. I'd also forgotten, after years of encountering only tinned lychees, with their tropical fruit taste, how fragrant the fresh ones are - and how they even smell of roses, too, making the floral part of the classic gewürztraminer tasting note almost tautologous.

A study of gewürztraminer and fresh and tinned lychees by Cornell University once identified 12 compounds common to the aroma profiles of all three, concluding that one in particular, cis-rose oxide, not present in either the riesling or chardonnay samples tested, was largely responsible for the smell we identify as "lychee", so this isn't pure fancy.

The wine itself, of course, comes in many guises. In Alsace, its spiritual home, it tends to be at its most perfumed and off-dry with the more expensive wines developing a heavy muskiness and thick, boudoir opulence. At the everyday level, the Cave de Turckheim, a reputable Alsatian cooperative established half a century ago, produces many of the own-label wines you find on supermarket shelves (and which are broadly recommended). While from the New World you tend to find approachable, clean versions with plenty of verve, and perhaps slightly less of a baroque feel.

This isn't a wine to drink all the time - you'd get sick of it. But put it with any food you think lychee might go with. Inevitably, this will lead you to oriental dishes - posh Chinese, noodles and tropical salads. They say the rich Alsatian wines are also good with foie gras.